


The Stars, I Hold Hostage for You

by caesiumlight



Series: Though the Stars Walk Backward [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-25 03:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20717669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesiumlight/pseuds/caesiumlight
Summary: Estranged from his Master, Lucas stumbles upon an unlikely mentor, who takes it upon himself to instruct the young Jedi in the darker side of the Force.





	1. Prologue

The Jedi temple is unending, and Lucas thinks he could live out his entire life within and still leave certain areas untouched. There are the libraries, in which the classes are held, and Lucas revels in the quiet and shelter they provide. The gardens are renowned for their beauty, and Lucas grows used to the scent of roses curling gently around him when he visits. He calls the training complexes his second home, for it’s there that he spars and prepares himself to earn his stripes out in the galaxy. But it’s the ruins on the outskirts of the grounds that hold his regard. 

Lucas goes whenever Ten is being particularly severe, or particularly distant. He goes to look for unnamed objects forgotten in the dirt; a misplaced earring, a discarded droid part, a blaster gun that no longer fires, and imagines himself to be an illustrious merchant instead of a lowly padawan. The collapsed buildings left behind from a once lustrous empire provide boundless corners to explore, and Lucas can pretend he is a sole traveller by choice, not a student unwanted by his master. Today, Lucas thinks he should be happy; he bested the other padawans in training, but when he looked to Ten for approval, a cold nod was all he received. He decided to come here, before the ache in his chest could grow too painful.

His feet take him aimlessly about the rubble, crisscrossing debris slowing his passage. It’s by a chance stumble that Lucas spies the fissure in a wall, leading towards a dark cavity. There’s a strange pull in his gut that prompts him to peer in, squeeze through the narrow opening. The meagre light spilling through the cracks guides him down a crumbling stairwell, but when he arrives in the lower cavern, there’s no mistaking how still and unnatural the air feels. 

They’re taught to always reach out for the Force, to use it as their constant signpost and aide. But there is no Force to be felt here, no life that Lucas can parse out. No motion, or sound, and it’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced, even in the hardest of trials. Lucas exhales with effort, anxious; even breathing becomes laborious. 

His first instinct is to reach for his lightsaber, and the glow from its activation casts a soft illumination on his surroundings. It’s vast, and only now does he realize how wide the cave runs. There are obvious signs of use; a transport route maybe, utilized perhaps by the sand nomads who prefer to dwell underground. And yet, there’s something innately wrong with that picture, something Lucas can’t quite place. It’s in the way the walls are chiselled, and the strange hollowness of the place. Caution pounds in his chest, but Lucas is curious, and still sore from his encounter with Ten. He doesn’t yet want to return. 

So he continues. And finds a man, enclosed within four impenetrable glass walls at the end of the tunnel. Lucas can’t quite decide how to react, if he should run, defend, or attack, all his training dissipating in the face of this completely unforeseen conundrum. 

“A visitor,” the unknown person muses with faint surprise. He wears plain robes, and Lucas is unable to make out a weapon on him. But he holds himself taut and controlled, and Lucas ascertains him to be a threat should he wish to be. As if reading his thoughts, the man raises both palms up, placating. “Welcome,” he offers a simple smile. “It has been moons since I’ve had willing company.”

Lucas finds his voice. “What is this place?”

The man shrugs. “A home of sorts, as humble though it may be,” he provides easily, but there’s an undercurrent of strain to be heard. Even more acutely does Lucas grasp the absence of the Force, as if it’s been wrung out of the very atmosphere and sealed clinically away. 

_It’s a prison_, he finally realizes. 

There are Force suppressors installed, and the glass walls act as shields, rendering the enclosure the bleakest, harshest environment Lucas can comprehend. He shudders at the thought of spending an eternity here, cut off from the river of life he has come to depend on in every waking and resting moment. A thought encroaches on him then, a question as to what kind of person could deserve such punishment, and he unwittingly takes a step back from the mysterious man, who now poses a tangible danger. 

The man senses his fear, and his expression turns wry. “I don’t bite,” he says mildly. “At least, I can’t. Not in here.”

Lucas isn’t in the mood for trickery, though he detects truth in the man’s guileless words. “Why are you here,” he demands. “Who are you?”

A twist of his mouth, and the man’s handsome features turn bitter. “I am here because the Jedi have deemed me unworthy of life, yet in the same breath, unworthy of death.” The man looks tired then, weighed down by an unending sorrow, but his eyes find Lucas’, golden irises dim but striking. 

Lucas swallows, understanding dawning. 

“I am here because I am a Sith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Obi-Wan Kenobi's voice: I have a bad feeling about this.  
2\. Come rejoin me in this galaxy far far away, warnings for not-entirely-accurate-lore and improper use of the Force. I think.


	2. The Way of the Mynock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"The road is long, but it is worth the journey, for a true master of Form Three is invincible."_

Ten doesn’t question his disappearance for the afternoon, and Lucas is forced to accept the possibility that his Master simply hadn’t noticed. 

It stings. Though less so this time, because of the terrible discovery he harbours in secret. Lucas doesn’t know how to bring it up, or if he even should. It was the Jedi who imprisoned the Sith, and they saw it necessary to hide their actions, and mask the prison in ruins no one would think to look in. 

Lucas isn’t ashamed to admit that he fled the moment he realized what the man was. In spite of pleas by the Sith to stay—_“No, don’t go, please!”_—Lucas turned and ran, ran as fast as he could out of the cursed cave, his heart threatening to rip out of his chest. He doesn’t want to know what the man wants of him. The Sith deal in dark power and corruption, and just the brief contact has Lucas feeling tainted. He can only hope his fellow Jedi fail to detect it. 

The evening lesson is one in Soresu, the lightsaber technique he doesn’t particularly excel at. The _only_ technique he doesn’t excel at, Lucas thinks miserably. Master Yixing begins the class with a brief demonstration that has all of them gaping in awe, followed by a reminder that the Resilience Form facilitates survival rather than victory, and as such came to be considered the closest representation of the Jedi’s non-aggressive philosophy, even in a fight. Fortitude, self-control, and a serene mind are all crucial for a user to be effective in Soresu. Lucas doesn’t think he’s imagining it when Yixing’s eyes sparkle as they sweep past him, and he groans internally, already preparing to fail the class with flying colours.

“Defend,” Yixing reiterates as the training blaster droids are activated, circling threateningly around the students. “Keep your stance grounded, your movement economical. Do not waste energy attacking.” Yixing quirks a wry smile, almost certainly directed at Lucas. “Destroying them will only result in double the reinforcements.”

The entire class does groan then, even as Yixing signals for the test to begin. The first fifteen minutes or so pass without incident, as Lucas deflects every single blast aimed at him easily. But Soresu is an exercise in endurance, in which the user prolongs the battle, wearing the opponent down. The class is designed to test that ability, and as time trickles steadily by, Lucas notices his arm aching, his mind wandering. 

“A battle can rage for hours, sometimes days,” Yixing’s voice rings out, even as the collective exhaustion in the room reaches its peak as the training encroaches on its third hour. “Focus, and conserve your strength.”

Lucas tries to remain centered, keeping his swings close, allowing him to better protect himself. It’s getting trickier to track the rapid flight of the droids, thereby making it harder to pre-empt their strikes. His grip aches, and in the moment he decides to adjust it slightly, he misses a stray shot to his unprotected left side.

Training droids they may be, but plasma shocks are a pain regardless of how diluted, and a sting spreads from where he’s hit. Lucas is taken by surprise by the flare of annoyance that overwhelms him. It’s a split-second decision—he whirls past another student, lightsaber held defiantly up front, and slices the offending droid in half. 

Yixing’s warning rings true however, as two more droids are deployed to replace the now smoking one. It devolves into utter chaos after that. With so many shots ricocheting about, the temptation to leave the droids untouched proves too much. The students resort to cutting them down, only for their numbers to double. 

They’re forced to give up when the arena is well and truly surrounded. “I suppose,” Yixing eyes them with amusement, “holding out for three hours wasn’t too bad.” 

“Three hours and seventeen minutes,” Mark corrects primly. “And it was Lucas’ fault.”

Lucas huffs as the padawans laugh, feeling heat creep down his neck. A momentary loss of control cost the battle. Thankfully, the others don’t seem to mind, some of them even glancing at him gratefully for shortening the gruelling session. Yixing sends them off to their own corner to stretch and review technique, as he meanders by each individual station, critiquing them on their various performances. His eyes are kind as he alights at Lucas, and Lucas has to look away, embarrassment prickling. 

“You have a way with the saber,” Yixing comments lightly. 

Lucas blinks, blindsided. He wasn’t expecting praise. “Thank you?” 

“It reminds me of Ten, when he was younger.”

Lucas’ mouth drops open. He knows he’s talented, but to be compared to his own Master, who astounded even the Jedi Council with his skill, is something else entirely. “You’re lying,” he says bluntly, before he can keep his disbelief to himself. 

“Nothing but the truth,” Yixing insists. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” he says conspiratorially, lowering his voice, “Ten hated Soresu as well.”

Lucas stares. As far as he knows, Ten has no weaknesses in combat styles. “No way.”

“Yes, _way_,” Yixing grins, and for a painful moment, Lucas wonders what it would’ve been like to be mentored by one such as this, whose warmth is given so readily to everyone he meets.

“Fine,” Lucas mumbles, “but he would never have succumbed to emotions like that.” Ten is an immovable object, a solid mountain that stands calm and unflappable no matter how the wind howls. Sometimes, hatefully, Lucas wonders what it would take to bring the mountain down. And then he catches himself with such thoughts, and has to bury his face in his hands, ashamed. 

Yixing’s watching him carefully now. “Your Master is not the unfeeling stone you think him to be,” he says gently, and Lucas ducks his head. He knows he’s acting like a child, desperate for attention, a quality surely so unseemly in the Order’s eyes. But Yixing smiles again, placing an encouraging hand on his shoulder. “In mastering Soresu,” he continues, as if they’d been discussing the lesson all along, “patience is key. There are layers you have yet to uncover, and perhaps one day you will.” 

\--

Lucas turns Yixing’s words over in his head as he lays in bed. His Master allows so little of his own life to be seen, that even something as simple as, _Ten hated Soresu_, makes his heart do an odd leap in his chest. 

He’s restless, and sleep refuses to come. 

As a child, when Lucas was still plagued by nightmares of his family, images of them lost and helpless in the sand, crying out for their son, Lucas would wake Ten through their tenuous bond. His Master would fly to his side, a cool hand pressed to his forehead, until Lucas fell into an uneasy sleep again. And when he woke, his Master would still be there.

That memory he hoards as precious, but it’s been awhile since Lucas felt anything through their bond. So long that sometimes he wonders if he made the image of Ten’s concerned face above his own up. He doesn’t fear discovery as he slips out of his room, and out of the Temple. The ruins he can navigate with ease, even under faded moonlight, and against his will and better judgement, his feet pull him to the jagged entrance to the cave. Lucas makes his approach obvious, footsteps crunching in the gritty earth, and by the time he arrives at the enclosure, the man is standing to greet him.

“You came back,” he says with obvious relief, and Lucas scowls.

“What do you want with me?” Curiosity and exhaustion and resentment make a heady cocktail, the kind that he and Mark try in secret out in the local tavern when their Masters are away, the kind that makes you impulsive and stupid. If Ten knew what he were doing, _if Ten knew—would the mountain move?_

“Company, like I said,” the man replies honestly, interrupting his thoughts. “Isolation is no friend of mine, and I grow tired of listening to my own voice.” 

Lucas scoffs. “You want me here so you can corrupt me?”

To his surprise, the Sith laughs at the suggestion, mirth crinkling his eyes up. “Young one,” he admonishes, causing Lucas to bristle, “if you think yourself so easily fallen, then half the battle is already lost.”

“I know your kind,” Lucas hisses. “You lie and destroy, and you’d see the Order and the galaxy crumble before you spit a truthful word.”

The Sith arches an amused eyebrow. “Then why have you come back?”

Lucas flinches. He doesn’t fully know why he’s come back, and he most certainly can’t say, _I ache, and perhaps I longed for company as well—company of one who understands loneliness._

The man before him does not gloat, even though Lucas must prove a sorry sight; compassionate in a way that is unexpected. “You carry yourself heavily,” he observes.

“Training was hard today,” Lucas says hastily, fumbling for an excuse.

“Hard?” The Sith’s eyes have taken on an interested gleam, and he comes toward Lucas, nearing the glass. Lucas surprises himself by not stumbling back in horror. “Tell me,” he suggests. “Perhaps I can help.”

Lucas’ first reaction is to scoff—_help, a Sith wants to help him, really_—but he remembers the hushed tales about the dark legends, Darth Sidious, Darth Vadar, Darth Krayt and so many more. The padawans used to discuss their fearsome exploits with reluctant awe. How often have they come close to bringing the world to its knees, and now, one of their own wants to teach him? 

_Fuck it_, Lucas decides. He won’t say no to improving his swordsmanship. He won’t say no to another chance at making his Master proud. 

“I don’t take well to Soresu,” he says hesitantly. 

“The Way of the Mynock?” the Sith snorts. “They’re still teaching that useless shit?” 

“What,” Lucas says, scandalized that he’d dare to disparage the Jedi’s techniques. “Useless?”

The man waves his hand, dismissive. “Oh sure, it may work against witless clones and vacuous droids. But against a skilled duelist, the form merely delays the inevitable.” He looks meaningfully at Lucas. “Against me, Soresu alone would prove to be your demise.”

Lucas tries to hide his shudder. The Force may be locked away from the Sith in this cage, but he radiates authority nonetheless, draped about him like a formidable cloak. Lucas believes him instantly. “I doubt I have anything that would stand against you,” he mumbles, before flushing when he realizes he just admitted to such difference in power. 

_Rule number one_, Ten had drilled into him from the start, _never let your enemies see your weakness_. 

“Not now you don’t,” the man agrees, but there is no condescension in his tone. It makes Lucas’ head hurt, this dichotomy of character. “But I can show you.”

_I can show you_, Darth Bane promised Githany.

_I can show you_, Darth Nihilus promised Visas.

_I can show you_, Darth Sidious promised Skywalker.

Lucas should run. He should leave this place and never come back. Fool that he is, thinking he can stare down this void and come out unscathed. Instead, he stays. “What do they call you?”

“Youngho,” the man offers. He’s smiling now, and Lucas fears him more somehow. “And you, young one? What should _I_ call you?”

“Yukhei,” Lucas says, because it’s the name the Jedi swallowed when they ripped him apart from his family. A forgotten name, the only name he can bear to hear on the Sith’s lips, for _Lucas_ will cripple his heart with shame and guilt. 

“To your feet then, Yukhei,” Youngho commands, terrifying and absolute. “I will show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Admiral Ackbar's voice: It's a trap!  
2\. This chapter is dedicated to the lovely [Dreadnite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreadnite/pseuds/Dreadnite), thank you!


End file.
